My family visited a rude psychic, with degenerative bone disease, who insisted all of us had bad breath. She was a super callous fragile mystic expecting halitosis.
My grandmother was famous all over town for growing delicious strawberries. She made me promise that when she died, I would plant her strawberries on her grave so that people could enjoy them when they visited. When she passed away I fulfilled my promise. She’s dead and berried.
I went to a restaurant and had a salad. Afterward, I got an intense pain in my stomach. I visited the doctor and he told me that I had grass-troentiritis.